


Moloch von Wulfenbach

by phoenixyfriend



Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Mama von Zinzer doesn't have time for your shit, Moloch is Klaus's illegitimate son, Von Zinzer Brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2020-12-09 07:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20991449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixyfriend/pseuds/phoenixyfriend
Summary: In which Moloch is Klaus's bastard firstborn. It doesn't change much, until it abruptly REALLY DOES.





	1. The Ballad of Serach von Zinzer (and others)

**Author's Note:**

> For Girl Genius Event Week  
Oct. 11: I got tied up in plot holes when I tried to write it before

If one had asked Baron Klaus Wulfenbach how many children he had in the early days of the empire, he would have claimed none.

Nearly two decades later, he’d have claimed one.

Both were lies.

In some universes, he’d have waited until being unfrozen from time to admit to having a second child.

In the universe of this story, however, he’d have admitted to having two children during the events of Beetleburg.

This, dear readers, was _also_ a lie.

In this universe, he had _three._

o.o.o.o.o

Of the nine children mothered by Serach Von Zinzer, only one was illegitimate. She had married young, had four children, and then mourned the death of her husband. Five years later, she had remarried, and had four more.

Between the first four and last four, she’d run into a man in a tavern while trying to move on, decided to have a little fun, and then faced the consequences nine months later. Seeing as she’d already had four children and wasn’t having too much trouble with raising them, and Bruno was getting to be old enough to help with the chores anyway, she’d rolled up her sleeves and decided to raise one more.

When the Heterodyne Boys passed through town again, Serach had told Bruno to keep an eye on the younger ones and marched right over to Klaus Wuflenbach, grabbed his sleeve, and dragged his absurd mass over to a dark corner.

“Do I know y—”

“That one’s yours,” Serach had said, pointing at her cluster of children. “The littlest one.”

Klaus Wulfenbach had stared at Serach’s boys, squeezed his eyes shut, and taken a deep breath. It whooshed out rather loudly. “I don’t suppose I have to worry about a jealous husband?”

“He died three years ago,” Serach said brusquely.

“Alright,” Klaus said. His eyes darted back to the children again. “Er… what do you—”

“I don’t want you involved with him,” Serach dismissed. “Goodness knows you’d bring trouble, with the company you keep. I just want you to know about him. If anything happens to me, I’m sending him to you, and if your… if your _Spark_ carried over to my son, then I want your promise that I can call on you for aid when it’s time.”

“Of course,” he’d said, looking for all the world like it was a question that didn’t even warrant asking. “That said, I… if you require financial… I mean, child support is the norm, in many areas, and I’d feel… well, I don’t suppose I could speak with him, sometimes? Meet him, at least, when he’s older?”

“With my permission,” Serach tells him. “He may wish to meet you, and he is to some extent your son.”

“…_some?”_

“Well, I’m the one raising him, aren’t I?” Serach shakes her head. “Go on, get. And if you ever want to meet my children, be _subtle_ about it, and arrange it ahead of time. Don’t just show up.”

“…of course.”

He disappeared three years later.

o.o.o.o.o

When the Baron came back, armies blazing, Serach kept her head down and her boys under her watchful eye. She’d remarried by then, and when a letter arrived via the newly established imperial post, she struggled through it with the tenacity of a woman with nine sons and no fucks left to give.

“Bruno!”

He thundered down the stairs, fifteen years old and lanky as anything. His hair was awry. She’d have to fix that.

“How’s your writing been at school?”

“Fine, ma,” he said. “I’ve been studying, promise!”

“Well, it looks like we’ll be needing to put that to the test. I’ve got a letter for you to write. Can’t have it looking sloppy, or they might not let it through the post,” she grumbled. “Fetch the foolscap we’ve been using for the budget, that’ll do.”

_Herr Baron,_

_Your census request has caught us at a good time. I’ve now a new husband and nine sons, the eldest of which is writing this letter for me. None have apprenticed as of yet. Our family’s income is inconsistent, but we manage. I shall include the last several years’ worth of profits along with the ages and names of my family below. Thank you for taking the time to take stock of your new territories. I’m sure you’re very busy, and it will be some time before things calm down enough for you to take a closer look. Do take your time._

_Best regards,_

_Serach Von Zinzer_

(She’d taken her first husband’s name, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to take the second’s. ‘Serach Sala’ just didn’t roll off the tongue. Von Zinzer she’d become, and Von Zinzer she’d remain, as would her children.)

o.o.o.o.o

When the Baron visited the little farming town, it was at the tail end of a rainy winter, one that had done its damnedest to drown the crops and cattle. His hair was a dark brown, and his eye was covered in a patch that drew attention away from the sparse hair patching across his chin and upper lip. A child clung to his leg, trotting along at a speed that wasn’t going to be manageable forever. The child was nearly hidden behind the cloak, and when Serach opened the door, she didn’t even notice him.

“You took your time.”

“You asked me to,” Klaus responded. “Might I come in?”

Serach pursed her lips, eyeing him suspiciously, and then stepped back and gestured. “I told you to warn me.”

“There was a rather… sudden cause,” Klaus said, and the little shadow at his back detached itself and dodged into the room.

A child.

A child with the same chin and brows as Moloch had had at that age, hidden among more of the Baron’s high cheekbones and a stranger’s eyes and cheeks.

She turned to the Baron. “So.”

“I’m sure you’re—”

“Who’s the mother?” She cut him off.

He dragged a hand down his face. “Would you believe me if I told you that nobody, _nobody_, has figured it out that quickly?”

“I have someone to compare him to,” Serach said drily. “There’s a resemblance, and you wouldn’t have brought him here otherwise. So, a secret, or a clone? We’d have heard about an heir otherwise.”

“A secret. It’s too dangerous for him to be known to the world, but…”

“But?”

The child piped up. “He told me I have a brother!”

“And how long did that take?” Serach asked him.

“Well… he told me a few minutes after he told me I was his son.”

Serach narrowed a sharp glare at Klaus. “Did he now.”

Klaus closed his eyes and didn’t wince so much as give a full-body sigh without actually making a sound.

“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” Serach decided. “Child, what is your name? I’ve nine sons; I’m sure you can play with them. You look to be about the same age as the youngest two.”

Oh, she was going to _destroy_ this man.

o.o.o.o.o

** **

** _~fourteen years later~_ **

“Let’s just talk to Wulfenbach,” Omar grumbled. “You have an in. Use it.”

“Not gonna go beggin’ for help from ‘im,” Moloch said. He peered at his bottle. Near-empty. Damn. “Been years since we talked.”

“Because _you_ wanted to prove you could make a name for yerself without ‘im,” Omar snapped. “Well, half our brothers are probably dead now. We gave it a shot and it failed. Time to throw in the towel.”

Moloch tried to drain what was still left in the bottle. A dribble of it slid down the bottleneck to his lips, but ran dry all too quickly.

“Moloch!”

“What?” Moloch asked. “I’m not gonna do it.”

“Get rid of your damn pride,” Omar snarled. “Or—”

“Or _what?”_ Moloch asked. “Those ships that got us had Wulfenbach insignias. Wulfenbach troops were what killed the others. Like hell I’m going to go to him before I figure out if it was a rogue ship or an actual change in policy.”

“We’re going to _join_ them six feet under if you don’t,” Omar muttered, but subsided against the wall, draining his own bottle. They’d had the conversation a dozen times. They’d have it a dozen more.

Then the townie showed up and, well, things went a little haywire.

o.o.o.o.o

Klaus strode into the workshop as soon as the gas cleared, face set into his usual deep frown and arms tucked behind his back.

Gil followed after him, peering around with the curiosity of the young and hopeful.

Two bodies, both fully unconscious. One woman, blonde, and quite young. One male and older and _what._

“Er father, what are you doing?”

“Take them both,” Klaus said shortly.

“Why?” Gil asked.

“Look at the man in the D’Omas uniform,” Klaus said shortly. He took a certain satisfaction in Gil’s noise of dismay.

His mind whirled across what he’d seen of the large clank. The craftsmanship was completely diverged from his own, and Moloch had never shown much sign of being a spark anyway. Mechanic, yes. Clever in his own way, but less spark and more… minion, really.

Meanwhile, the girl had been an utter mess, plagued by headaches caused by emotion in such a way that, at least by Klaus’s suspicions, would have destroyed her if she ever even _tried_ to fugue.

Except it had come back to the shop, so it had to be one of them.

Moloch had the background of a spark in his blood, and a known inclination towards mechanical engineering, if not a very inventive one. The girl was clumsy and treated like a disaster by everyone who knew her, but she had a university background that could have accounted for some of the complexity he saw in the gear arrangement.

So.

He would take them both. He needed to question the girl about what she’d seen of the anomaly.

He needed to question his eldest child about _everything else._

o.o.o.o.o

Gil fidgeted, though he didn’t want to admit it. Moloch _had_ to be close to waking up by now, he was sure of it, and Gil had even brought a glass of water and some bread and cheese and meat that hopefully wouldn’t be _too_ heavy for the post-C-gas nausea.

He didn’t know what connection Moloch had to the girl from TPU, but Gil was a little stuck on the idea that he might wooing her. It was hard to imagine another reason Moloch would be in a room with a girl so scantily dressed. And even if—

“Kid, you’re thinking too loud,” Moloch grumbled.

“Moloch! You’re awake!”

Moloch cracked open one eye and levered himself up to a sitting position. He rubbed at his temple, frowning as much as he did whenever one of the Von Zinzer brothers had done something to annoy him. “The hell’s going on?”

“Eat something,” Gil said, nudging the plate closer. “And I’ll tell you.”

Moloch glared down at the plate, and then back up at Gil. “You got any booze?”

“Not after you got gassed,” Gil said. “Eat. And then we can go talk to Father—”

“Not really my pops,” Moloch said, taking a bite of bread.

“And then you can go see your girlfriend.”

Moloch choked on the bread, collapsing into coughs. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and wheezed, _“Girlfriend?”_

“We found you with a half-naked girl,” Gil said. “Father thinks the most likely explanation is that you’re wooing her and we caught you being intimate.”

Moloch stared at him.

He flopped back onto the bed.

He threw an arm over his eyes.

“I’m stuck in a nightmare.”

“You’re not.”

“Shut up, you’re just a figment of my imagination.”

Gil snorted. “Okay, fine. Why were you with a girl in her underthings?”

“I don’t _know_ why she was undressed,” Moloch complained. “I just wanted to yell at her.”

“For…?”

Moloch subsided, and a haunted look came over him. Gil thought back to the rough uniform of a soldier in a minor spark army that they’d found him in, and the near-empty pockets and signs of malnutrition. The scars and burns and other signs of a military man who’d been roughing it for longer than necessary.

“Where were you?” Gil tried to ask. “You—Auntie Serach said you’d all joined a local militia, and then started jumping armies, and—you could have just asked Father for positions, it would have been much safer, and paid better, and—”

“Shut _up,” _Moloch snarled.

Gil did, if only for a second.

He quietly asked, “You look like you’re in bad shape. I understand that—that you fought with Father sometimes, but couldn’t you have asked me for help if you needed it?”

Moloch looked at him sideways from under his arm, lip curled. “Ain’t gonna go begging for my little brother’s scraps.”

Gil flinched. “You’ve got as much right to be here as I do.”

“Nah, you’re all _legitimate_ and shit. I’m a bastard,” Moloch said. He dropped his arm and sighed heavily. “Omar’s dead.”

Gil felt his heart drop. “Oh. I-I mean, that’s—”

“Don’t go trying to make me feel better,” Moloch said. “I’m pretty sure it was some fancy piece of jewelry the idiot mugged a townie for—”

_“Mugged?_ Moloch, if you were so badly off that you needed to resort to _stealing_ from civilians—”

“Could you let me finish? Hell, you’re such a _spark_ sometimes. My talking time. You wanted answers, you’re getting them, shut up until then. I’m angry and scared and I don’t want to be here. Don’t make it any harder than it is, kid. I still love you and all, but shit, you’re making it hard to put up with you after everything that’s happened the past few weeks.”

Gil winced and sat back. Right. Trauma was bad time to get overbearing and talkative.

Moloch shook his head. “I tried to talk him out of it. Beetleburg’s a bad place to break a law. We were broke, but not broke enough to risk getting put into one of those bell jars. Omar did it anyway, because he’s… he _was…”_

Gil stayed very carefully silent.

“He was an idiot and a jerk, but he was family,” Moloch finally said. “You know the feeling, having me.”

“I—” Gil cut himself off.

“You can say it.”

“You’re not a jerk. Or an idiot,” Gil said forcefully. He paused and then added, almost apologetically. “But I did know Omar.”

Moloch snorted and took a long sip from the water glass.

“The jewelry did something to him. Dead before the day was out. I’ve got it in a pocket, but I ain’t got a clue what it is or how it does what it does, and it ain’t killed me yet, so…”

Gil made a noise. “You carried around the thing that _killed Omar_ in a way you didn’t even understand?”

“I was angry as hell and you can get off your high horse,” Moloch snorted. “Shit happens. Emotions… happen too. And look where it got me. Tell me, if I wasn’t your brother, would the Baron have even bothered with putting me in this nice room or—”

“Yes, because he’d have assumed you were a spark and tried to hire you,” Gil interrupted. “Or, well, coerced and bribed you into making sparkwork without harassing people the way the clank in Beetleburg does. That’s what usually happens.”

Moloch shook his head. “Fine. Still wouldn’t have been great. I’d have been stuck trying to pretend to be the Spark because who’s going to tell the Baron he’s wrong? And anyway, I’m still—I don’t trust him.”

“…why?” Gil prodded.

“Tell you in a minute,” Moloch said. “I’m… I went and found the girl, I started yelling at her, and then she smacked me in the head with a wrench.”

“She what?”

Moloch reached up to his head, prodded a spot under his hair, and winced. “Yeah, still there.”

“We can fix th—”

“Don’t,” Moloch said, shaking his head. “Keep your sparky medicine for actual emergencies. Don’t suppose you could hop back down to Beetleburg and grab Omar?”

“I could—I could send someone,” Gil said. “Might be too late, but we could give it a shot.”

“Thanks,” Moloch said. “Anyway, after that I just… woke up here, so I’m guessing that C-gas hit while I was still woozy.”

“How did she hit you in the first place?” Gil asked. “I met her before, she’s got good reflexes and all, but you’re a soldier and she’s… squishy.”

Moloch gave him a look full of disdain. “Squishy? Really?”

“You know…” Gil said, squirming. “She doesn’t really have any muscle.”

“Uh-huh,” Moloch said. “That’s what you meant.”

“I did!”

Moloch rolled his eyes. “Right.”

“Anyway, what happened to make you not trust Father?” Gil asked.

Moloch’s slight shade of a smile disappeared. “Omar’s not the only one dead. We were trying to make it to Paris, get out of all of the bullshit here in the territories. We weren’t even near a town or anything, just out in the middle of nowhere, and we got shot down by a Wulfenbach ship. Omar and I were the only ones I know definitely got out… and now it’s just me.”

He looked at the ceiling, face like stone. “So until I found out why Wulfenbach forces shot down a walker that wasn’t involved in combat, and wouldn’t even _let us surrender_ the way we were told they would, during the actual battle, I’m not talking to the Baron.”

“…can,” Gil choked a little. “Can you describe the ship that shot them down?”

“Sure,” Moloch said. He sounded very tired.

Gil waited.

o.o.o.o.o

The door slammed open.

“DUPREE, WHAT THE HELL.”


	2. Life Upon an Airship City (Surrounded by Idiot Geniuses)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moloch hates basically everything about this situation right now.

Moloch kept his mouth shut for the most part, answering Klaus’s questions with as few words he could manage if there wasn’t a snarky comment to be made. He left the shouting to Gil and Bangladesh DuPree, the woman who was apparently responsible for the deaths of most of his brothers.

Great.

Klaus dismissed both of the others, though he informed DuPree that he’d be speaking with her again as soon as he finished with Moloch.

And then there were two.

Moloch crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, crooked up a brow, and waited.

Klaus seemed almost like he was about to take the challenge for what it was, but then dropped his face into his hands and sighed so deeply that Moloch couldn’t help but take a little pride in bringing his father to this point.

“So,” Moloch said. “Wild card, huh?”

“In need of some serious disciplining,” Klaus grumbled.

“Would that discipline be happening if it weren’t for the fact that you knew me and my brothers?” Moloch challenged. “Or would it be brushed off like so many others?”

“If I’d come to_ know_ that she’d attacked unprovoked, then yes,” Klaus said. “Unfortunately, I rarely have much to go off of beyond her word. I may need to start sending Gilgamesh out along with her; he keeps her in line, and she… keeps him on his toes.”

Moloch felt his brow crawl higher. “So…basically a sister, or planned sister-in-law?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying they seem close, old man.”

Klaus rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “They can barely stand each other.”

“I grew up as one of ten brothers,” Moloch said drily. “So let me tell you now: she acts like she’s his annoying older sister.”

“And you’re okay wi—”

“Of_ course_ I’m not!” Moloch snapped, jumping to his feet. “She _killed half my family,_ Wulfenbach!”

Klaus didn’t flinch, but Moloch imagined he wanted to.

“And as I said, she’ll be discipli—”

“Disciplined? What, like given docked pay, or sent to Castle Heterodyne? Because I’m feeling like it’s gonna be one when it should _really _be the other.”

Klaus’s frown deepened. “I can’t do it that easily. Like it or not, she’s a vital part of—Moloch!”

Moloch let the chair fall behind him. “We’re done here.”

He wrenched the door open and stomped off down the hall.

Gil followed him, unacknowledged.

\--

“You really shouldn’t drink that,” Gil said.

Moloch looked down at the abysmal moonshine he’d bummed off a Jäger, and rolled his eyes. “Don’t go around telling me what to drink, kid. You’re barely old enough for this anyway.”

“First of all, I drank plenty in Paris,” Gil said. “Second of all, I was more talking about the fact that you really shouldn’t drink anything a Jäger gives you; you can die of things they drink without a problem.”

“I’ll live,” Moloch said. “So, what’s going to happen to little miss mass murder?”

“Bang? I don’t… I don’t know,” Gil said. He sat down heavily, and pressed his shoulder to Moloch’s. “I’m—I knew she was awful. She’s a pirate queen, and I saw her eviscerate a _lot_ of people, mostly would-be assassins that were after me and Father, but she’s never…”

“Killed someone you care about.”

“Yes.”

Moloch took another swig. “That’s the problem with growing up here in the clouds or out in the big towns. You don’t get to learn what it’s like for the little folk on the ground, in the farmlands and wastes. Your dad—”

“Our dad.”

“—_your dad_ talks a big game, but things slip through the cracks. Big things, small things, but mostly the things that can’t afford to pull themselves back out. You know Ma never really learned how to write? She could muddle along well enough to read ingredients, and she knew her numbers, but she always had us kids writing the letters to your dad. Weren’t time out there to learn reading for a long time, and even after the Wulfenbach armies swept through and started making schools, it wasn’t great. Us Von Zinzers got off easy ‘cause of the connections, but we’re farm kids; schooling stops after you’re fifteen unless you join an army or show enough promise that someone takes you out to one of the big cities, and if you show promise…”

“Probably a spark that gets burned at the stake?” Gil guessed.

Moloch made a face and shrugged. He didn’t bother denying it. The kid could guess what all could happen. He was smart enough.

“So… that’s why you didn’t want to come up here after I went off to Paris?” Gil asked.

“Eh,” Moloch hedged. “The old guy and I had some arguments before you went off. Ma raised me to be all independent and stuff; didn’t want to rely on his charity or anything.”

“It’s not charity from a _parent,”_ Gil protested.

Moloch shrugged. “It is what it is. If I had a chance to go back and change it, I probably would have, since everyone else is… anyway, too late to change shit, and I’m pretty sure time is one of those things nobody’s supposed to play with.”

“That doesn’t stop them from _trying,”_ Gil grumbled. He stared at his feet for a few moments, scuffing the toe of his show along the ground like a schoolboy caught misbehaving. “So… the thing that killed Omar. Can I…”

“Don’t die,” Moloch said, but handed it over.

Gil looked it over, then flipped it to read the back. “She mentioned this, I think… said her locket had been stolen on her way in that morning. Beetle kept trying to use it as an excuse to get her out of there. Still don’t know why, but if she was the spark that built the clank we saw—oh!”

“Oh?” Moloch asked, as suspicious as anyone who’d grown up knowing that his little brother was a young spark with very sporadic impulse control.

“The clank was looking for someone or something, and we didn’t know what—we thought it was looking for us, to get revenge for Beetle, but I think she made it to look for the locket!”

“Huh,” Moloch said. “Makes sense, I guess. Do you know how that thing killed Omar?”

“I’d have to open it,” Gil admitted. “And I’d prefer to do it in a lab. Something like this is too small for me to want to risk losing a piece in a hallway, you know?”

“Hm.”

“Or we could just… ask Miss Clay,” Gil said, voice almost… timid?

“What, you scared of me?” Moloch asked. “Kid, I bet you can throw me half the length of the ship, and don’t pretend you can’t—I remember Ma yelling your dad’s ear off about what he did to make it harder for you to die. Stop acting like I’m something ya gotta be scared of.”

“I’m not _scared_ of you!” Gil protested. “I’m just trying to be nice! Sensitive to your needs and grief or whatever!”

“Huh,” Moloch said. He took another swig of his godawful booze, and shook his head with a sigh. “A’right. Let’s go talk to—what was her name?”

“Agatha Clay.”

“Let’s go talk to Miss Clay, then.”

\--

They found her talking to Sleipnir O’Hara, a name that Moloch vaguely recognized. Gil went in for a hug.

Miss Clay stood back, arms crossed, glaring at both of them.

“So,” Sleipnir said brightly. “Who’s…”

She gestured at Moloch. She seemed to be trying very hard not to use any variant on the word ‘scruffy.’

Gil paused, and looked at Moloch questioningly.

“The hell are you looking at me for?”

“I don’t know how much you want to say,” Gil said. “You’ve spent almost thirty years denying it.”

“Cute,” Moloch said. He waved to the girls. “Hi, I’m Moloch von Zinzer, the bastard firstborn.”

Gil slapped a palm to his forehead and groaned.

“If you didn’t want me introducing myself, you should have—”

“I thought you’d have more tact!”

“Since when have I bothered with that shit?”

Sleipnir interrupted, “Wait, wait, wait, you have a _brother?”_

“Yes,” Gil said. “And he has more on his mother’s side, but I’m not technically related to them.”

“Eh, might as well be,” Moloch said.

“So you hid,” Sleipnir held up a hand and started ticking something off on her fingers, “Being a spark, being the son of the Baron, _and_ a brother.”

“In my defense, the brother thing wasn’t my secret to share,” Gil said immediately.

“Ma didn’t want me officially connected to anything like this,” Moloch said, gesturing at the walls around them. “Enough to deal with on the farm.”

Miss Clay was fuming. Visibly.

“Oh!” Sleipnir seemed to remember something abruptly. “Agatha, this is—”

“We’ve met.”

Wow. Frosty.

Gil winced, and Moloch side-eyed him. “I know what I did, but what in blue fire did _you_ do?”

“He killed Dr. Beetle!” Miss Clay exploded.

“He threw a _bomb_ at me!” Gil protested.

Moloch looked at both of them, and then met Sleipnir’s eyes. “Okay, I’m not getting involved in that. I’m just here to ask how the hell you killed my brother.”

Miss Clay paused in the glaring contest she seemed to have started with Gil. She turned to Omar and pointed quizzically at Gil.

“My other brother. Omar. The one who was—I don’t want to speak ill of the dead but he was a piece of work and mugged you.”

“Moloch, you don’t—”

“Gil, look me in the eye and tell me Omar wasn’t kind of a dick.”

Gil did not meet Moloch’s eyes.

Satisfied, Moloch turned back to Miss Clay. He pulled out the locket. “So, why did this kill—”

“My locket!”

Moloch held it up and away, and then realized he was shorter than her and passed it off to Gil. Gil, to his credit, immediately held it up out of her reach despite the look of horror on his face at being dragged into this.

“You didn’t get the good genes, huh?” Sleipnir asked.

“Shut up,” Moloch immediately said.

“Auntie Serach is tiny,” Gil confirmed, ruining everything.

Moloch elbowed him in the ribs.

Miss Clay stopped trying to get the locket back and just stood there, fists clenched and face red and _oh hell she was about to start crying._

“I’ll give it back!” Moloch assured her. “But first, you _killed _my _brother,_ and I know he was awful, but that still seems a bit much.”

“I didn’t _kill him!” _ Miss Clay yelled. She stomped a foot like a character on a stage. “That locket is—that locket is the _only_ thing my uncle left me, and it—it has my birth parents’ pictures and I was never, _ever_ supposed to take it off so give it _back!”_

Gil was frozen in place, staring at Miss Clay with the abject fear of a man faced with a crying woman.

Wait.

No.

“Miss Clay,” he said, “I thought your headaches were triggered by strong emotions.”

“They are!” Miss Clay yelled, and then seemed to reflect on that. “They—they were. I don’t…”

Gil brought his hand down, frowning at the locket. “I think… perhaps we should take a look at this. Moloch, Sleipnir, care to join us?”

“Classes are over for the day, and I don’t think Von Pinn is going to be upset if I’m playing lab assistant for you,” Sleipnir said.

“Ain’t got nothing better to do,” Moloch said. “What’s got you thinking?”

“Miss Clay, you’re not a spark, are you?” Gil asked, heading off down a hallway.

“No, I’m—nothing I’ve made even _works. _I can’t be a spark.”

_“Unless_ this was preventing it!” Gil said. He held up the locket. “You lost it the morning of the visit, yes? And then… it would explain a lot. You were an assistant in Beetle’s labs, so you’ll know how to help out, and if I’m right, you might be breaking through right _now.”_

“That’s—slow down—that’s impossible,” Miss Clay argued. “I’m not a spark. I can’t be, I’m—I’m _broken, _and—slow _down!”_

Moloch reached out, grabbed Gil’s sleeve, and dug in his heels. “Kid. Come on. Not a single person in this group is as freakishly tall as you. Stop running.”

“I’m not freakishly tall.”

Moloch looked at Miss Clay, who was once again on the verge of angry tears, and Sleipnir, who seemed to have Moloch’s level of exasperation with this. Made sense, given that she’d grown up with Gil on here.

“He’s exhausting, isn’t he?” Moloch asked her.

“He used to be so much better,” she sighed.

“I hate _both_ of you.”

“Can we _please_ get back to the _point?!”_ Miss Clay demanded.

Silence.

“Uh, kid?” Moloch coughed. “Don’t know how to tell you this—”

“I don’t want to hear it from you,” she snapped.

Moloch looked helplessly at Sleipnir and Gil.

“Agatha,” Sleipnir said, putting her hands on Miss Clay’s shoulders. “Your voice just started verging on spark harmonics. I think Gil’s right.”

The poor girl’s face twitched, turning a further shade of red. Moloch sighed and put a hand to Gil’s back, shoving him forward. “Lead the way, and this time, go slower.”

Thankfully, Gil didn’t put up a protest. He just led them to the right lab and started setting up shop.

Moloch helped until he noticed that Miss Clay had stepped back to… well, to fret, it seemed. Ugh. He wasn’t great with women, let alone _young_ women who were probably torn up to hell and back about the last few days.

Wasn’t really battle fatigue, but it was still a lot.

He stood next to her, and then realized that she hadn’t noticed him come over. He took a moment to make sure his body was in line with hers, shoulder to shoulder and in no way looming—not that he could, of course, because Gil hadn’t been _wrong_ about Ma being shorter than most and passing it on to the rest of ‘em—and then elbowed her.

She startled—of course—and then glared at him. “What do _you_ want?”

He held out the locket. “Figured you might want this back.”

Miss Clay snatched the locket out of his hands and cradled it to her chest, still glaring at him.

He looked straight ahead and didn’t acknowledge it.

After a few more seconds, during which Moloch only tensed when it looked like Gil was about to brain himself with a wrench by accident, Miss Clay sighed. “I’m sorry about your brother. I still don’t see how this could have let to him dying, but—”

“If that’s what kept you from breaking through, then think what it could have done to someone with no chance of breaking through,” he said.

She didn’t comment.

“And I’m sorry about Omar mugging you,” Moloch continued after a moment. “I really wish I could’ve stopped him, but he was all I had left except Gil over there, and…”

“And?” Miss Clay prodded.

Moloch shook his head. “It’s complicated. I’m not on great terms with the Baron, although now I have an _explanation_ for… what happened to the rest of my brothers.”

“Would it be rude of me to ask?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I see.”

Moloch gave her a few moments, and then asked, “Do you want to help them, or…?”

She looked troubled, so Moloch looked away again. “Or not.”

\--

So it turned out the issue, such as it was, mostly boiled down to Miss Clay having precisely zero trust in herself to _not_ completely destroy the only thing her uncle had left her. She was also rather reluctant to let any of the rest of them open it up, either. She agreed to taking off the casing, and then hovered nervously nearby and pulled the away whenever they tried to pull over anything more invasive than a magnifying eyeglass.

“I’m going to get some snacks,” Sleipnir declared. “Anyone coming with?”

Gil was too focused on the locket to respond. Miss Clay wasn’t leaving anyone alone with it.

Moloch got to his feet and followed Sleipnir. “I’ll come along.”

It wasn’t an eventful trip. Sleipnir shared a few stories about Gil’s childhood that Moloch hadn’t heard before, and then mentioned that Gil and another friend of theirs, Theo, had been _very_ into making their own alcoholic beverages for a few years. Moloch resolved to try them, and thanked Sleipnir for the information.

They reentered the lab to find Miss Clay and Gil clasping hands, staring into each other’s eyes with wild grins and babbling a mile a minute with abandon.

There was a small fire, unattended, on the other end of the table.

“Damn sparks,” Moloch grumbled. He set the food on the table and went over to the fire to put it out, because he was a sensible fucking person who didn’t leave unattended fires burning if he could help it.

“Hey Von Zinzer!” Sleipnir called. “Your brother just tried to propose to a girl he’s known three hours!”

Moloch let his head fall on the table, then did that a few more times before he stood up. He pointed at Miss Clay. “Ignore him, kid. He doesn’t know the first thing about girls.”

“Hey!”

Miss Clay laughed at that, covering her mouth.

“And you, what the hell are you thinking?”

“It would annoy Father?”

Moloch reached to the side, picked up a large wheel of cheese, and threw it at Gil’s head. “You’re an idiot.”

“Stop insulting me.”

“I’m you’re older brother, it’s my job. Get to know the girl first. For the love of all that is good and holy, at least take her out for a _dinner_ first.”

Gil geared up to argue again, but Miss Clay cut him off. “I’d be open to dinner.”

“Oh! Oh, um, I—I can do that,” Gil immediately said. “I can definitely do that. What do you like?”

“Surprise me,” Miss Clay said, which was such a very distant turnaround from her earlier rage at him that Moloch almost started running through the standard checklist for confirming your comrade had not been replaced by some form of clone, spy, or pod person. “But I do ask that we have _some_ form of chaperone, of course. To work with you in a lab alone is one thing, but to spend time outside the workspace together? My mother would never approve, and I _do_ expect to see her again.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed, and her hands tightened around Gil’s. “Unless your family has other plans?”

“No, no, you’ll _definitely _see them again,” Gil insisted. “As soon as things calm down some—we’re still dealing with some of the fallout, but if we can locate them—or if my father decides you’re trustworthy enough as a spark to be allowed back on the ground instead of kept in a lab—then yes, absolutely.”

“You suck at this,” Moloch told him.

Sleipnir laughed behind a hand and pulled Miss Clay away from Gil. “Come with me, I’ll tell you about the time he got stuck in the vents and we had to—”

“Sleipnir!”

“Well, you _did!”_

“I’d like that,” Miss Clay said with a smile.

“I’ll chaperone,” Moloch offered. “And—oh, hey, do you want Gil to ask the Baron to take a look at the locket for you? He can ID things with a glance, so he can probably look through that thing without damaging it.”

Miss Clay looked down at the locket that was still on the table, and bit her lip. “If nothing, absolutely _nothing,_ is damaged, then yes. You can have him look.”

“I’ll stick around and make sure nobody messes with it too much,” Moloch said.

He was used to it, after all.

\--

Whatever Klaus found, it resulted in him storming into a teenage girl’s room, banning everyone except Boris from entering, and having a conversation that Moloch was emphatically _not_ allowed to listen to.

“What happened?” Sleipnir asked. The small crowd of young adults, Lackya, Jägerkin, Von Pinn, and various others behind her seemed just as interested in the answer.

Gil shrugged, and Moloch let him answer it. “I don’t know. He saw the locket and said the work looked familiar, and then he saw the portraits and started asking questions about Agatha and then he just… left.”

“I guess her uncle must’ve been important,” Moloch muttered. “Never seen him freak out like that before.”

“It’s not common,” Gil agreed. “Should we…?”

“Nah, he’s not gonna hurt a defenseless girl,” Moloch said. “It’s—”

The door opened with a slam, and Klaus stormed back out, Boris following at high speed and looking like he needed about ten times as much coffee and alcohol as he’d already had today.

Miss Clay, barely visible through the door, looked like she was about to cry, and was staring down at the locket in her hands.

“I’ll handle it,” Sleipnir decided. “Alright, everyone! Show’s over! Get on with it!”

\--

Moloch settled into a routine after that. He helped Gil figure out how to woo a girl, he helped that same girl out with her experiments (and got into arguments about minionhood on the way), argued with his father, and avoided the hell out of one Queen DuPree.

He sent a letter to Ma, explaining what had happened, and included a healthy sum of money provided _oh-so-generously_ by the Baron himself for the loss that was suffered at the hands of one of his chief officers.

Ma would be giving the Baron a piece of her mind in due time, so that was all well and good. She’d get through to him better than Moloch ever would.

There was an incident with a flying machine, where Gil nearly got himself _and_ Miss Clay killed, after which Moloch separated them for a few days so the incident wouldn’t repeat itself.

Chaperoned meetings _only,_ even for science.

Miss Clay became Agatha, and Moloch found himself slipping into an easy rhythm with her, partly helping her grow into her new Sparkhood, and partly teasing her about the possible burgeoning relationship with his brother. So what if she disappeared to meetings with the Baron or with the Jägergenerals sometimes? It wasn’t _his_ problem.

“You know she’s probably—”

“Nope. Not listening. If she says her dad’s a blacksmith, then her dad’s a blacksmith.”

“But you have to have noticed that—”

“Kid, stop talking. I noticed, but it’s above my blasted paygrade to care.”

“…it doesn’t _have_ to be. You could get a proper role in the Empire instead of just being her minion.”

“Gil. Kid. I’m begging you: shut up. You’re a genius, how in blue fire do you keep saying such stupid shit?”

So yeah, Moloch kept his nose out of problems, up to and including the whole thing with the cat, everything to do with Othar Tryggvassen, and whatever affair Sleipnir and Theo were having that they thought they were being discreet about. It wasn’t his business, wasn’t his problem, wasn’t his deal.

Of course, then there was all that nonsense with a hive engine being released, and the ‘blacksmith and piano teacher’ being the famous Punch and Judy, and his brother following a very upset young woman who’d just seen her parents ripped apart in front of her by an angry construct, and Moloch had to decide between staying on an airship that was currently in a crisis and being run by his father, or following his brother onto a much, much smaller airship to escape the entire situation and comfort a young woman that might well be his sister-in-law, eventually.

“I’m blaming your youthful rebellion for this,” Moloch informed Gil, climbing aboard the ship and pretending he didn’t see the heartfelt exchange between Theo and Agatha. “Just so you’re aware.”

“I had my youthful rebellion in Paris.”

“I honestly couldn’t care less.”

\--

They joined the circus.

They joined.

The circus.

(Of course, then DuPree showed up to drag them back, and it maybe took both Gil and Moloch to talk her into leaving without blowing their cover. There was a lot going on, and Moloch didn’t trust Klaus’s judgement to be entirely clear as far as Agatha was concerned when the girl’s parents were so clearly terrified for her, so yeah. Go home, DuPree. We’ll come back when we’re ready.)

(Until then, they’d do what every child dreamed off: they’d run away with the circus.)


End file.
